Every Day Quotes March
by MissJayne
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles about our favourite characters. One quote per day.
1. Mar 1

Every Day Quotes: March

_**Mar 1  
><strong>_Even though work stops, expenses run on.  
><strong>Cato the Elder<strong>** (234 BC - 149 BC)**, _On Agriculture_

Jennifer Shepard glared at Agent Gibbs.

She knew it was useless; the man was immune to her glares. But she needed to glare at someone and he was the only one in the room. And he was also the cause of her ire.

He was the most difficult agent to oversee, partly because of his aggravating nature and partly because he refused to allow his old probie to win any battles against him. He was right, he was always right, and she was not supposed to say any different. He was not above reminding her of mistakes she had made 'back in the day', and she was not above reminding him he had taught her all his tricks and she knew how to play him.

"These expenses." She tapped the folder in front of her. "Explain."

"You sent me undercover," he reminded her.

"And I did not tell you to spend _this_ amount of money," she countered sharply.

"You told me to 'get the job done'," he quoted. "That's what it cost."

She pointed to the figure on the sheet she had circled in red ink. "Want to explain this to SecNav?"

He smirked. "That's _your_ job," he pointed out.

She resisted the urge to throw something at him. "Where am I supposed to find this money?"

"You're the politician, you figure it out."

She watched as he walked out of her office, a grin still on his face. Oh he was going to pay for this…


	2. Mar 2

_**Mar 2  
><strong>_Leave well - even 'pretty well' - alone: that is what I learn as I get old.  
><strong>Edward Fitzgerald<strong>** (1809 - 1883)**

Ducky knew that some things cannot be altered. His conclusion had come after many long years filled with life and experiences, and learning about the people who graced his morgue.

Interfering in other people's lives always ended badly. Young Tony needed to learn this particular lesson. Sometimes people needed a kick up the rear or their eyes opened to what was right in front of them, but meddling was never a good option. Meddling for the sake of meddling was even worse. People had to sort their own problems out or they would not learn anything from the experience.

He had learnt that death was inevitable, no matter how hard one tried to avoid it or how in denial some people were. Death would visit them all, even him some day. It was far better to live life to the fullest and have no regrets than pretend everything was going to be better at some unspecified point in the future.

Some things were impossible to change. The trick was in working out what could to be changed from those things that were merely difficult. Some things needed to be left well alone, regardless of whether they could be changed or not. And then there were some thing that needed to be changed, despite most people affecting lethargy about them.

The one thing that had taken longest to learn and was perhaps the most difficult lesson of all? It was impossible to teach any of this to even the most willing student. People had to experience these lessons for themselves.


	3. Mar 3

_**Mar 3  
><strong>_Never express yourself more clearly than you are able to think.  
><strong>Niels Bohr<strong>** (1885 - 1962)**

"Gibbs!" Abby Scuito squealed as the man in question strolled into her lab, an offering of Caf-Pow! in one hand and his usual coffee cup in the other.

He smiled a greeting, before setting her drink down on her desk and pointing at the sample he had left her earlier that morning.

"No small talk," she grinned in reply. "Fine." She picked up the Caf-Pow! and took a long sip.

He gave her a look to hurry up.

"Okay, _el jefe_, the blood sample from Ensign Bartlett. As expected, a high blood ethanol concentration, although not enough for him to be over the limit so it wasn't the direct cause of the car crash, but mixed with the methadone in his system it could have had an effect as the drug has been shown to affect various physical abilities needed for driving, including information processing, reaction time, sedation and visual acuity, and the sedative effects of methadone may be further enhanced by the use of alcohol, though further research is needed on this…" She trailed off at the blank look on his face.

"Yeah?" He encouraged her to continue despite her certainty he had lost her train of thought a while ago.

"Basically, even though his blood alcohol level was under the limit, when combined with the methadone it made a deadly combination," she summed up.

He nodded, this time understanding. She beamed as he kissed her cheek before leaving her lab. All in a morning's work.


	4. Mar 4

_**Mar 4  
><strong>_The reward for doing right is mostly an internal phenomenon: self-respect, dignity, integrity, and self- esteem.  
><strong>Dr. Laura Schlessinger<strong>

"Excuse me, sir. Can you help me?"

Timothy McGee paused and looked at the woman. He was only on his way for coffee and was not in a rush – Gibbs could live without him for a few minutes and he could always call if there was an emergency.

She was in her twenties, young and pretty. Obviously a tourist. A rucksack rested on her back, her long hair was flung back in a ponytail and a baseball cap perched on her head. She was dressed casually and held a map in her hand.

"Of course," he replied, moving to the side of the street so he wouldn't block anyone.

"I'm looking for the Lincoln Memorial," she told him, smiling. "Only I think I'm lost."

He smiled back at her. "Just a little. You should be able to find it from Constitution Avenue. Take the next street on your right until you find it – it's hard to miss. And then head left towards the White House. It's just before the river."

"Thanks."

He watched her go, her head held high as she continued on her way. His heart was filled with happiness for helping her. Despite it being a simple task to direct her to her destination, it had not been something he'd had to do – he was helped her simply because it was the right thing.


	5. Mar 5

_**Mar 5  
><strong>_I believe in recovery, and I believe that as a role model I have the responsibility to let young people know that you can make a mistake and come back from it.  
><strong>Ann Richards<strong>

Tony DiNozzo was kicking himself.

Mentally, of course. If he started kicking himself physically in the squad room, there was a distinct chance his sadistic partner would see him and join in. While he was comfortable throwing a pity party for himself, he enjoyed it more as a party of one.

It was all his fault. In spite of the gaping holes in the widow's alibi, he had been suckered into leaving her alone for five minutes. She had been crying softly all morning; not the horrible weeping where he couldn't do anything right, but the gentle sobs as she mourned her husband and tried to control herself at the same time. He hadn't failed to notice just how hot she was, either. It was a combination of the two which had led him to leave her alone with her husband's possessions.

Luckily, Gibbs had walked in and caught her in the act of trying to dispose of the murder weapon. Tony could have kicked himself. His first suspect was always the wife – why had he lowered his guard this time?

He had made a mistake, a big mistake. He had so much experience in the field; why had he been so stupid?

Gibbs paused in front of his desk as he left, whether for the night or to simply refill his coffee Tony did not know. He braced himself, expecting to be yelled at.

"We learn from our mistakes," Gibbs reminded him.

Tony watched as his mentor headed for the elevator. He was right.


	6. Mar 6

_**Mar 6  
><strong>_I do not know what I may appear to the world; but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.  
><strong>Isaac Newton<strong>** (1642 - 1727)**, _From Brewster, Memoirs of Newton (1855)_

Leroy Jethro Gibbs stared at the beach, lost in thought.

He came here every so often, especially in the first few weeks of spring when the world began to warm but the place was deserted. It was picturesque; soft sand and pebbles leading up to a crystal clear sea. The gentle waves lapped against the sand, a few birds circled overhead.

Kelly had loved this beach. They had spent many an afternoon playing on it, whether they were making sandcastles or riding ponies. She had loved to run about in the shallow waters, squealing when it was too cold. She had chased the seabirds, running round and round in circles for hours on end. Once, she had decided she wanted to take one home. Shannon had talked her out of it.

It was strange how one place could be so full of memories. He no longer saw his family in his house, only his garden. There had been too many ex-wives lurking in the walls of his domain, but they had all avoided his area outside and his basement. This place, a place so beautiful, was full of tiny moments between Shannon, Kelly and himself.

He moved his foot to find a shell sitting next to it. Kneeling down, he retrieved it from the sand and examined it with a smile on his face. Kelly would have loved it.

He placed it carefully in his pocket and stood to leave. He would be back before long.


	7. Mar 7

_**Mar 7  
><strong>_Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,  
>Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.<br>**John Howard Payne**** (1791 - 1852)**

Ziva David only called one place home.

Israel.

Despite having left it to come to America, despite being disillusioned with her former line of work, she still loved her homeland. There was only one place that could ever be home in her heart; a land of deserts and mountains, of varied people and extraordinary places. A land where few of her family still survived and continued their lives.

Yet she had so many friends in America. She had a father figure in Gibbs, best friends in Abby, Jenny and McGee, and something difficult to explain with Tony. She had a grandfather in Ducky. For the first time in her life, she truly understood what a family was and she never wished to leave them.

Her new family were in one place but her heart still longed for another. She could not reconcile the two. Israel was where she had been born, the place in which she had grown up. It was full of contradictions she had never seen elsewhere, full of people with a zest for life and a determination to succeed.

America could never replace it.

Perhaps one day she could take her new family to see her homeland, watch as they danced in the sand and the sea, laugh with them as they explored Tel Aviv. She did not see how it would ever be possible, but she continued to dream of such a day, aware of the one thing she had learnt about since leaving her homeland.

Hope.


	8. Mar 8

_**Mar 8  
><strong>_The world stands aside to let anyone pass who knows where he is going.  
><strong>David Starr Jordan<strong>** (1851 - 1931)**

"Make a hole!"

Tony DiNozzo charged through the halls of NCIS, dodging fellow agents in his haste. He had somewhere he needed to be urgently. No time to waste.

He dashed between two agents who were exchanging coffee, too busy planning his next move to hear their complaints as the hot beverage went all over them. He hurdled a box someone had left in the middle of the corridor, making a mental note to find out later who had left it there and set Ziva on them. He barreled round a corner, narrowly missing Director Shepard, who quickly moved to one side and said nothing.

Ignoring the elevator, he raced for the stairs, taking them three at a time in his rush. Hurry, hurry, hurry. He shoved the door open on the correct level, pretended he hadn't almost smashed it into Agent Smullen's face, muttered something that could possibly count as an apology if she had been running alongside him and had Gibbs' magical hearing powers, and continued.

Round one corner and then another, smacking into someone from Legal who probably deserved it simply on the grounds of working in that department, just missing Palmer as the Autopsy Gremlin appeared out of nowhere. He ran as though the hounds of hell were chasing him, which they probably would if he didn't make it in time.

"Boss!" He came to an abrupt stop in the squad room, holding out the precious folders he had been carrying. He tried to catch his breath. "The files you requested."


	9. Mar 9

_**Mar 9  
><strong>_Maybe coming clean is the ultimate selfish act. A way to absolve yourself by hurting someone who doesn't deserve to be hurt.  
><strong>Cindy Chupack<strong>, _Sex and the City, Don't Ask, Don't Tell, 2000_

"Erm, Abby?"

Timothy McGee took tentative steps into the Goth's domain. She had been in a bad mood for the last few days, even growling at Gibbs. Her music had been turned off and she had even shut the door to her lab. Something was seriously wrong.

And now he had to confess to being responsible for that wrong. He was nervous – he didn't want to admit how much he had hurt her, but he knew it was the best thing to do.

"What?" she demanded, not turning around from her sample preparation.

"I… I was the one who borrowed Bert."

She spun around to face him, glaring at him as though he had just confessed to torturing a puppy. "You stole him!"

"No… well, yes I did. But I meant to put him back!"

She placed her sample on the bench before striding over to where he stood. "And why hasn't he been returned?" she argued.

"I may have misplaced him." He expected her to kill him.

She glared, a cross between Gibbs and a special Abby Scuito original. "Where?"

"In the squad room," he replied, amazed he had survived so long. "He was on my desk, then Tony rang while he was on the run from Ziva after pranging her car, and when I returned I couldn't find him."

She took his arm in a vice grip. "Then you are going to search the squad room for him while I supervise."

He nodded, allowing her to lead the way. He could only hope she forgave him.


	10. Mar 10

_A/N: That drink in your hand? I suggest you put it down now..._

_**Mar 10  
><strong>_If pregnancy were a book, they would cut the last two chapters.  
><strong>Nora Ephron<strong>

Tony DiNozzo put his foot to the floor and ignored the red light. Cars swerved to avoid him, honking their horns to remind him how suicidal he appeared.

He ignored them. His partner, lying in the back seat, did not seem bothered by them either.

"Drive faster!" she ordered.

"I am!"

"You are only doing fifty."

"My foot is flat to the floor and I'm in a thirty zone."

"I usually do seventy through here and this is an emergency."

"Jeez, Ziva. How have you not killed yourself yet?"

"Stop the car. I shall drive."

"You're in labor!"

"And I can still driver faster than you. Stop!"

She moaned in pain as another contraction hit her. Tony sped up a little. It wouldn't be good if she gave birth in his backseat; she would never let him forget it and his seat covers would be ruined.

"You said the hospital was five minutes away." Apparently she had recovered from the contraction. Crazy ninja Mossad chick with a high pain tolerance…

"That was _before_ the accident clogging up the roads."

"I told you we should have gone left at the last intersection. I know a shortcut."

"Hang on, we'll make it. I'm not getting lost while you're giving birth."

"This is all your fault."

"Gibbs told you to take maternity level last week – it's your fault."

"I should have asked him to drive."

"And how would you manage that? 'Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Hostage Taker, but my water just broke and I need you to release my boss so he can drive me to the hospital'."

"If you had allowed me to crawl through that air duct, we would have had eyes in there half an hour before you managed to do so, and we would have everyone out by –"

She trailed off as another contraction hit her.

"Drive faster!" she insisted through gritted teeth.

He waited until she seemed to be in less pain before he retorted, "And how would you have crawled through the air duct when you look like a beached whale?"

She viciously kicked the back of his seat. "Stop this car right now so I can kill you and then drive myself to the hospital."

Tony cut across three lanes of traffic and did an emergency stop. "We're here!" he yelled. "Just hang on, Ziva. I'll get an orderly."

"I can walk, _ahabal_!"


	11. Mar 11

_**Mar 11  
><strong>_The most astonishing thing about miracles is that they happen.  
><strong>G. K. Chesterton<strong>** (1874 - 1936)**

Abby Scuito glared at her computer monitor as though it would complete the search faster. Trying to find a fingerprint match could take such a long time.

"Get Gibbs in here," Timmy suggested from next to her. "You'll get a result and then we can go home."

Privately, Abby felt this was true for only one of them. Several cases back-to-back had exhausted Team Gibbs. Coupled with her being the only forensic scientist in the Navy Yard and refusing to have any form of assistance, she had been working longer hours than _el jefe _for the past week. Without Caf-Pow!, she would have collapsed days ago.

When she got this result, Gibbs would send her home. Not that he really had the authority to send her home or in fact to prevent her from napping in her office as she had been for days, but he would insist she go home and he would probably escort her himself to check she left the building and arrived home in one piece. His team, however, would be sent to follow whatever lead she dug up.

"Seriously," Timmy continued. "Call Gibbs. He's a miracle worker when it comes to getting results."

She would have turned around to glare at him if she wasn't so tired. "There's no such thing as a miracle when it comes to science."

"Then how do you explain Gibbs getting results?"

"That's easy – he's psychic. He knows when I'm about to get a result so he visits at the right moment."

"But that's not scientific."

"_Gibbs_ isn't scientific. I am."

She didn't need to see Timmy's face to know he was trying to figure out her theory.

The elevator doors dinged less than a second before her computer did. "See?" she pointed out. "Gibbs!"


	12. Mar 12

_**Mar 12  
><strong>_Where is the path to Grown-Up Land? How do I get there? Or will I just get old, not understanding that I'm no longer young?  
><strong>Tish Grier<strong>, _love and hope and sex and dreams, 05-01-07_

Ducky knew that NCIS' resident forensic scientist was something special.

Even if he ignored her vast intellect and abilities, she was different to most people. Her kindness and her loyalty set her apart from others, as did her exuberance and love. The eccentricities in her appearance simply highlighted what everyone knew – she was unusual.

And not in a bad way.

Despite the line of work she found herself in, despite the autopsies she had witnessed and the crimes she heard about every day, Abigail still retained a rare innocence. She was a young soul, untainted by the horrors of the world around her. She firmly believed that good lay inside everyone, ignoring the darkness that permeated their working hours.

He doubted she would ever change, that she would ever grow 'old' in that sense. Already, it was bordering on impossible to guess her age – between her outward appearance and her demeanor, she seemed permanently young. She was a breath of fresh air in a world filled with hatred and ignorance.

She did not wish to grow old before her time in any sense, and he admired her for it. He could see her in a decade, still their Gothic princess, still Jethro's favorite, still working just as hard as ever and somehow still their Abby.

He smiled as he thought about her. There was no one who would want her to change either.


	13. Mar 13

_**Mar 13  
><strong>_Truly, to tell lies is not honorable;  
>but when the truth entails tremendous ruin,<br>To speak dishonorably is pardonable.  
><strong>Sophocles<strong>** (496 BC - 406 BC)**, _Creusa_

Ziva David was strangely truthful.

In spite of her propensity to torture and kill, in spite of her assassin background and her view of the world, she rarely lied. Not unless she had to, anyway. Lying was dishonorable, as was cowardice or an outward display of emotions. Lying was only acceptable for the greater good.

And yet she lied about an event which had changed her so much. A lie about who had pulled the trigger in Gibbs' basement; a lie about who had killed her own brother.

She was not the type of person to deny her kills. She knew exactly how many people she had dispatched, although she could not recall all their names. But she remembered the how and why, and perhaps that was more important in her line of work.

She continued to lie about who had killed Ari. Everyone believed it to be Gibbs, but she had done it. She had committed fratricide. She had pulled the trigger and ended her brother's life. And even in that moment, she had loved her brother.

Perhaps that was why she lied. Admitting she had killed the man who had practically raised her, who had adored her more than her own father, who had protected her and shielded her – she could tell herself the truth but she was not ready to explain to other people why she had done it. It would be too hard to explain how she had killed him out of love. She could not allow her brother to remain the monster he had become. But at the same time she could also not view him as the monster that others saw.

No, it was far better to lie in this case. She would not lose anything by this lie, and neither would Gibbs in covering for her. It was their secret and did not need to be shared.


	14. Mar 14

_**Mar 14  
><strong>_A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer.  
><strong>Ralph Waldo Emerson<strong>** (1803 - 1882)**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs did not consider himself to be a brave man. He simply did his job and if others called him brave, that was their doing.

He would certainly concede that his line of work meant he needed his wits about him and to have a strong stomach. He needed to deal with situations most people would want to run away from.

Like now, when he stood in a hospital corridor, trying to persuade a Corporal to remove his gun from a nurse's head.

His team had evacuated the floor and were supposed to be guarding the exits. There was no use in allowing the marine to take any more hostages. The FBI would be boring and insist on waiting for a trained negotiator to arrive on the scene, but it would take too long and put too many people in danger.

The handbook was good for ass-covering, but not for saving lives in real situations.

And so he stood across from the Corporal and Riley, trying to keep both of them calm, which required different tactics. If she panicked, Corporal Kyte might shoot her. If he panicked, they were all dead.

He kept his voice under control, kept his hands where they could be seen at all times, and attempted to find out what the marine wanted. There was no need to rush. His team would keep everything else under control. All he had to worry about was the immediate scene in front of him.


	15. Mar 15

_**Mar 15  
><strong>_You can't do anything about the length of your life, but you can do something about its width and depth.  
><strong>Evan Esar<strong>** (1899 - 1995)**

Jennifer Shepard stared at the building in front her in horror. "You got me out of bed at zero-six-hundred on a Saturday for _this_?"

Her evil friend climbed out of the car. "You said you had not been here in a while," the Israeli pointed out, seemingly unaware of Jenny's homicidal thoughts. "It is better in the mornings as fewer people are here."

The redhead stared at her friend suspiciously as she exited the car. "You didn't tell Tony about this, did you?"

"Of course not," Ziva replied, offended. "I would not want him to circulate photographs of me in a bikini around the Navy Yard."

Jenny nodded to herself, aware DiNozzo would love nothing better than to email photos of both of them in their bikinis to everyone he knew, and even more people besides. Still, the idea of swimming at this hour was not good. She would bet a month's supply of coffee the water would be freezing.

"Are you coming?"

Jenny faithfully followed her friend into the building. There had to be a way she could get Ziva back for this. Paperwork. Assignment to her protective detail for a weekend. Telling Gibbs who was responsible for the destruction of his favorite coffee mug.

Still, she had to admit, she needed the exercise. And she loved swimming.


	16. Mar 16

_**Mar 16  
><strong>_Most exciting ideas are not important. Most important ideas are not exciting. Not every problem has a solution. Every solution has side effects.  
><strong>Daniel E Geer Jr.<strong>, _Speech at Unix Users Convention_

Leroy Jethro Gibbs stared in amusement at his Director.

It was partly his fault for taking her into the field. Sometimes he needed to remember she now lived behind a desk and did not regularly chase suspects several blocks, but he had a weakness for partnering up with her and pretending it was the good old days.

Except this particular suspect had managed to sprain Jenny's wrist before eventually deciding to come quietly (which may have been due in part to Gibbs' threatening to shoot him for daring to hurt the redhead).

Someone at the ER had given her painkillers. Said painkillers had definitely worked, but also produced a few side effects.

Temporary insanity being one of them.

"Jethro!" she cried joyously, as though this was the first time she had seen him for weeks, despite him not having left her side for more than two minutes since he'd escorted her home over three hours ago.

"Yeah?" If he hadn't been partly responsible for her current state, he would have been sorely tempted to leave her with Abby. The Goth would have been pleased to spend time with someone as happy as her.

"I know what we need. Ice cream!" She scurried towards the kitchen; he followed at a more leisurely pace.

He wasn't bothered if she decided to eat. At least she wasn't throwing pens at him to 'improve her aim' (and missing badly due to the drugs), trying to start a pillow fight or dancing to cheesy music.

"Strawberry for me," she decided gleefully. "And coffee for you."

He took the offered tub, touched she had, at some point when drug-free, decided to buy a flavor just for him in case they ever spent an evening sharing ice cream, although he suspected she would happily eat it herself.

He decided to collect the spoons, and hoped this was not about to turn into a food fight.


	17. Mar 17

_**Mar 17  
><strong>_Sometimes glass glitters more than diamonds because it has more to prove.  
><strong>Terry Pratchett<strong>

Timothy McGee was a good field agent. Everyone told him so.

His fellow agents told him he was loyal, prepared to watch their backs, brave and someone they wanted on their side in a firefight. They admired his determination to get to the truth, no matter how long it took or how much effort it involved. They spoke in deferential whispers of his ability to put up with Gibbs even on his homicidal days, with Tony the clown and Ziva the Mossad assassin. They looked on as he dealt with an over-caffeinated forensic scientist, amazed he could calm her down and get sense out of her.

What they did not know was how hard he worked to prove himself to them. Deep down, he did not believe he belonged in the field, even though Gibbs only accepted the very best agents into his team. And so he pushed himself to his limits, determined to succeed no matter what. He worked long hours, developed coping mechanisms to deal with Tony and Gibbs, and learnt the warning signs that Ziva was about to embark on a killing spree.

His friends, alert to his determination, secretly watched him and made sure he kept his feet on the ground. Abby took him clubbing when he needed to get out of the Navy Yard, Tony harassed him to make him smile, while Ziva came over and cooked for him, filling his apartment with warmth and reminding him how much others cared.

But it would never quite be enough to convince him that he belonged in the field.


	18. Mar 18

_**Mar 18  
><strong>_Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose.  
><strong>Alan Moore<strong>, _Watchmen, 1986_

Abby Scuito was in a bad mood.

Not because someone had invaded her lab, or misplaced Bert, or because the Major had demanded her attention and set himself on fire. Not because any of her favorite people had been hurt, or killed, or even inconvenienced by the FBI coming to steal a case, or because someone had crossed _el jefe _and put him in a surly mood.

Her hearse had not got a flat, nor had it broken down in the middle of the Beltway. The party she had attended last night had gone without a hitch, if she excluded creepy Bob being in attendance, but he tended to avoid her since she had made the mistake of mentioning him within earshot of Gibbs, who had hunted the man down and threatened to kneecap him if he bothered Abby in any way, shape or form.

Her day had been a good one, right up until the moment Tony had brought evidence to her lab. Evidence which included a laptop with a file containing what appeared to be a random string of numbers.

She had dealt with the other evidence first, leaving her babies to run their analyses while she stared at the computer screen, trying to impose some kind of meaning on the figures.

First, she had reached for her code-breaking software. Cryptography was the most likely reason behind a random string of numbers in her view. Nothing had produced a sensible result.

So she had assumed they were map references, summoning various programs and imputing the data, only to find any possible co-ordinates made no sense. She had tried laboring under the hypothesis they were the keys someone would press to type a text message, to no avail.

Nothing.

She sighed, having run out of ideas. No one would leave such a string of digits lying randomly around…

A password!

She sat up straight and began to work on her new idea.


	19. Mar 19

_**Mar 19  
><strong>_There is nothing like dream to create the future. Utopia to-day, flesh and blood tomorrow.  
><strong>Victor Hugo<strong>** (1802 - 1885)**, _Les Miserables, 1862_

Ziva David had a dream. She was not sure it could ever become reality, but she knew that without her dream, she would go mad.

It was a simple dream, nothing complicated like the ones she was sure Tony could come up with. It was something she hoped for every time she went to sleep, something she knew could be achieved if everyone worked together.

She wished for a peaceful future. For a world with no wars, no guns, no fighting. No needless casualties in needless wars. For people to accept that their neighbors may be different in appearance or custom, but that they all had the same hopes and fears at heart.

It was perhaps a strange dream for a Mossad assassin, but she was well aware the world would not wake up one day and become peaceful. Some people were psychotic and lived for blood, chaos and destruction. It was her job to deal with that, to make the world a safer place for the vast majority of individuals who simply wished to live their lives and raise their children.

If she could make a difference in the world, it would be to allow people to live longer, to see the peace in their own hearts and realize the world they would want their children to inherit. Children of her own were not perhaps in her future, but she would be happy if she could achieve her aim.

Ziva David had a dream.


	20. Mar 20

_**Mar 20  
><strong>_Greater is our terror of the unknown.  
><strong>Titus Livius<strong>** (59 BC - 17 AD)**

"Why do I have to do this? Why can't the Probie take my place? I should have told Gibbs… No, I was right to keep my mouth shut. Otherwise I'd have the concussion of the century and _still _be down here."

Tony DiNozzo knew how horrible sewers could be at the best of times. Having worked for a long time in various police departments and for a certain federal agency, he had discovered first-hand how many criminals thought investigators would not bother to examine a crime scene in the sewer, whether it be a dead body or discarded evidence.

One day he hoped they would learn it was not an option – someone had to plug up their nose, ignore the smells and the strange splashes in the distance, and wade in to have a look.

This was worse than usual. It had not escaped their fearless leader's attention that the deceased Petty Officer lay right next to the opening of a sewer, and hence someone had been sent in to check for any possible evidence. Normally, Tony would have put up with the smell and done his job.

But today, he was terrified, and couldn't even ask his teammates to assist him. They would laugh.

Rats.

Everywhere.

Huge ones.

Disease-carrying, evil, disgusting vermin.

He shuddered as he walked past a particularly large one. What he wouldn't do for a partner down here, despite the teasing he would get. A partner could at least shoot the creatures if they came too close, or suffer whichever disease he caught from them with him.

He took one final look around. No evidence. If Gibbs decided this place needed checking again, he could do it himself.


	21. Mar 21

_**Mar 21  
><strong>_Through faith man experiences the meaning of the world; through action he is to give to it meaning.  
><strong>Leo Braeck<strong>

Abby Scuito had faith.

Admittedly, she excelled in a field where faith was not really an option. As a scientist, she had to accept whatever the evidence in front of her told her, no matter if she disagreed with what it implied or destroyed a personal theory. The only faith she allowed to creep into her job was faith that science would tell her the truth and faith in her own skills.

She had faith in people. She had faith that one day people would come to their senses and stop hurting each other, faith that the good side of human nature would win out over the bad. She had faith because without it, she could never be happy. She had to believe that things could change, that people could change, because the alternative was too depressing to accept.

She had faith in individuals, like Team Gibbs – faith that they could alter the balance of good and evil in the world, one bad guy at a time. She had faith that they would do no wrong, that they would only put the bad guys in prison and protect the innocent. She had faith that they would do the right thing, no matter what tempted them.

Until the day her faith became a reality, she would continue in her job, making a difference and providing justice for those in need.


	22. Mar 22

_**Mar 22 – Megan's birthday! I couldn't quite write about two people on the same university course sitting next to each other on an airplane back from NYC and discovering they both wrote fanfic (had we even taken off at that point, or were we still sitting on the ground waiting for them to fix that mechanical error right under my window, me the nervous flyer who panicked until we were in the air?), but I hope I came vaguely close to the spirit of it.**_

Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: What! You too? I thought I was the only one.  
><strong>C. S. Lewis<strong>** (1898 - 1963)**

It was only her third week as Director of NCIS, and Jennifer Shepard was sure she and her forensic scientist were off to a bad start.

She couldn't quite figure out why the Goth disliked her. She knew she had made a mistake with regards to the dress code – Jethro had stormed into her office and told her Abby worked best when she was left alone. The redhead had personally visited Abby to inform her she could wear whatever she liked in the Navy Yard, but their working relationship was off to a rocky start.

So she had decided to pay another visit to the Goth's domain, a more informal one to check she was okay and ask if she needed anything. Try to build a bridge between them that didn't have to be perfect, although she would definitely like to spend more time with Jethro's favorite. Anyone who could make him smile had to be someone special.

The first thing that struck her when she left the elevator was the absence of the music she had been assured was necessary for Abby to work. Unsure what was going on and nervous in case there was a problem, she stealthily made her way through the door and into the lab.

She paused, unfortunately scuffing her shoe on the floor and drawing Abby's attention.

"Drat," the younger woman muttered as she rapidly hit pause and minimized the window.

Jenny dared to come closer. "Was that _Supernatural_? The TV show?"

Abby nodded nervously. "I don't normally catch up with my shows at work, but I've had a really busy week and I've barely been home, and I just wanted to see the new episode while I didn't have anything to do, although I'm sure I can find something to do –"

"It's not that," Jenny cut her off, coming closer still. "I love that show."

The Goth stared at her as though she'd grown another head. "Really? I can't find anyone else in the building that does! Sam or Dean?"

"Dean," Jenny answered instantly. "He's so handsome and complicated."

Abby gasped. "Blasphemer! Sammy's so cute and innocent, and yet hot at the same time."

"At least we wouldn't have to fight over them," Jenny pointed out.

Abby nodded. "Have you seen this episode yet?"

Jenny shook her head. "Paperwork."

Abby nodded sagely. "I'm only five minutes in. Grab a chair and we can watch it together."


	23. Mar 23

_**Mar 23  
><strong>_Evil deeds do not prosper; the slow man catches up with the swift.  
><strong>Homer<strong>** (800 BC - 700 BC)**, _The Odyssey_

Timothy McGee was enjoying the early morning air.

The cold spring sunshine hit his skin, warming the patches that peeked out from underneath the layers he wore in an attempt to keep him warm. The air was still cold, but promised an end to winter and warmth weather soon. There were few cars around at this time to threaten to knock him over or pollute the air – he could smell the difference now.

The streets were fairly deserted, only populated by people returning from night shifts or other joggers like him. The city was quiet for once.

He was not a natural jogger, much preferring computers to fresh air and exercise, but he needed to keep fit if he was to stay a field agent. Running was the best idea – he spent half his time in the field chasing after suspects.

It had been Tony who had given him the final nudge, after chasing and tackling a suspect and then teasing him for being so far behind. Tim had decided it was time to show Tony what he could do. After consulting secretly with Ziva, he had begun jogging, planning his routes with care and gradually increasing the length. His aim was to survive an early morning run with their resident jogger.

He smiled to himself as he approached the final mile. Next time there was a chase, he would beat Tony.


	24. Mar 24

_**Mar 24  
><strong>_Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here!  
><strong>J. K. Rowling<strong>, _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, 1997_

Ziva David adored visiting Abby's lab. While she lived in a place full of despair and pain, the resident Goth could be guaranteed to brighten anyone's day.

Abby was a bright spark in a dark world. Always full of joy and happy to have visitors, no matter what they might be interrupting, she was a true friend to everyone. She was never short of a smile or a hug. Although Ziva had found her behavior confusing when she had first come to America, she had grown to be very fond of the Goth.

As she stepped off the elevator, the usual sound hit her ears. She winced; she certainly couldn't call this music. It sounded like someone was skinning a cat alive while several chainsaws played in the background. Covering her ears, she headed into the lab and hunted for the stereo.

She knew it was suicide to alter Abby's music in any way, but if she continued listening to this her ears would start to bleed and that would never do. And anyway, she had heard via Tony that Gibbs had turned the volume down more than once, and even Ducky had successfully complained about the earsplitting noises.

"Hey!" Abby complained, whirling around to discover who had committed a possibly unpardonable sin. "Oh, hey Ziva."

"I have a headache," the Israeli informed her truthfully, not mentioning the headache had come on in the last five seconds. "Is it okay if I leave it off for now?"

Abby nodded, simply happy to have someone to talk to. "I know some really good headache cures," she began.


	25. Mar 25

_**Mar 25  
><strong>_Sometimes the lies you tell are less frightening than the loneliness you might feel if you stopped telling them.  
><strong>Brock Clarke<strong>, _An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England, 2007_

Tony DiNozzo could not remember the last day he had not lied.

He was an accomplished liar, both to himself and to others. He lied with the masks he wore every day to hide his true emotions. Such emotions were a weakness, a luxury only others could afford. It was better to hide them, to hide himself.

The real Tony DiNozzo was damaged, broken beyond repair. His true face was full of fear and self-loathing; why did anyone give a damn about him? He was worthless, just someone who took up space and caused other people no end of trouble.

He didn't know how to love anyone. Sure, he pretended he did and he dated a lot of beautiful women, but he couldn't manage anything longer than a month (and the one time he did had ended in complete disaster). His 'friends' had a habit of running in the other direction the moment he let down his guard.

He didn't know how to be a friend, so he annoyed them until they ran away screaming. It became a game for him – how long would the next one last? He teased his subordinates and aggravated his superiors, simply because that was the way the world worked.

One day, Tony DiNozzo met Ziva David. And then he had decided it was okay to be truthful at times.


	26. Mar 26

_**Mar 26  
><strong>_What is right for one couple is wrong for another. I would say that there are many more important factors to a happy marriage.  
><strong>Elizabeth Aston<strong>, _The Second Mrs. Darcy, 2007_

"Special Agent Gibbs!"

"Director."

"Don't _Director_ me. Not after –"

"Not after what, _Jen_?"

"You cannot come in here and insult me in front of your entire team!"

"DiNozzo was in the evidence garage."

"Pedant."

"Why're you bringing a necklace into this?"

"That's it! I'm getting you a dictionary for your birthday."

"That the best you've got?"

"Agent Gibbs, what exactly is your problem with me today?"

"…"

"Does it have anything to do with Commander Buchanan?"

"You were flirting with him!"

"…Flirting?"

"_Someone _needs a dictionary of her own. I know when you're flirting."

"And you determined this from your seat in the squad room while he and I walked from MTAC to my office?"

"…"

"For your information, he then _grabbed _my _butt_ in my office."

"I'll kill him."

"Don't walk away from this conversation!"

"We can finish after he's dead."

"Get back in here, idiot. Did you really think I'd let him get away with it?"

"… What did you do?"

"My knee… may have slipped… into a particularly sensitive part of a man's anatomy."

"Low, Jen."

"Says the man who's smirking."

"Didn't gouge his eyeball out with a heel?"

"I bought these yesterday. Don't want to ruin them just yet. He wasn't worth it."

"Nah."

"You're still going to scare the living daylights out of him, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Why do I bother? Just don't get any blood on any carpet I'm responsible for and don't let it end up in the media."

"Spoilsport."

"I know."

"Night, Jen."

"Night, Jethro."


	27. Mar 27

_**Mar 27  
><strong>_Determine never to be idle...It is wonderful how much may be done if we are always doing.  
><strong>Thomas Jefferson<strong>** (1743 - 1826)**

Abigail Scuito had a habit of working long hours.

After all, she was the only forensic scientist in the Navy Yard and therefore the only one who could analyze all the evidence that was continuously brought in. And there was a lot of evidence. People had a nasty tendency to commit crimes.

She loved her job. She was well aware she could have an assistant or another few scientists working with her, but she preferred to work alone. Assistants tended to either have committed a crime or tried to attack her, while other scientists would need training in her ways. Until she could not live without someone else in her lab, she would protect it as best she could.

It meant she worked crazy hours. It meant she juggled evidence for different cases and had to be sure she did not mix anything up. It meant that while waiting for one result to come through, she was preparing another sample for a different analysis while working out what to do with a third.

She wouldn't change it for the world. It was a challenge and she excelled at it. And anyway, she was not good at being idle.

Unlike one Anthony DiNozzo.

She smiled to herself as one of her babies dinged. More work.


	28. Mar 28

_**Mar 28  
><strong>_Keen at the start, but careless at the end.  
><strong>Cornelius Tacitus<strong>** (55 AD - 117 AD)**

Ducky sighed as his assistant tripped over his own feet on his way out of Autopsy.

Jimmy was a good assistant, full of energy and enthusiasm. He loved his job, did it for the satisfaction of giving people closure and attaining justice for those souls that crossed his table. He did not mind the unsociable hours, the long nights, and the crime scenes in the middle of nowhere, with gales of freezing air destroying whatever harmony the great outdoors usually held and torrents of rain coming down on his head.

A medical examiner certainly had to have a 'calling' of some sort – not everyone was cut out for the job and the training tended to weed out the unsuitable. They needed to feel they were making a difference; not necessarily a huge one, but vital to the loved ones who remained behind.

Mr. Palmer would be an excellent medical examiner. He still had much to learn, but he was eager and aware of his shortcomings. His worst problem was his occasional habit of becoming careless towards the end of a job. Ducky had lost track of the number of missed stitches or misplaced paperwork.

Perhaps it was simply necessary for Mr. Palmer to grow up a little more, to gain more experience. After all, Ducky knew he would make a fine medical examiner one day.


	29. Mar 29

_**Mar 29  
><strong>_I have hardly ever known a mathematician who was capable of reasoning.  
><strong>Plato<strong>** (427 BC - 347 BC)**, _The Republic_

"This is insane! What's so hard to understand? I have not been paid for two month's work!"

Tony DiNozzo knew the squad room was probably not the ideal place to have this telephone conversation, but if he called on the phones in the Navy Yard, he wouldn't pick up the bill. Seeing as Finance had screwed up for the second month in a row and not paid him, he needed to start saving his quarters.

Glaring at Ziva, who was smirking at him from her desk, he tried to focus on the conversation at the other end of the phone. "Of course I've already reported this! I called you guys last month when I wasn't paid. Someone said they'd look into it."

If this was a prank someone was pulling on him…

"No, I don't remember who it was. They promised they'd sort it out. How hard can it be? Just check you haven't already paid me and then transfer the money."

"It doesn't work like that, Tony," McGee told him at exactly the same time the annoying voice on the other end of the line did.

"Well what's the problem?" he despaired. "I have been working for you; I expect you to pay me. No, don't put me on hold –"

He groaned, seriously hoping Ziva hadn't persuaded someone to withhold his wages or McGee hadn't hacked into Finance and arranged for his money to be given to charity. The electric company was threatening to cut him off if he didn't pay up.

"Hello? Yes, I'm him."

How could this be so complicated?

"What do you mean, I'm dead? I can't be dead! Do I sound dead to you?"

Ziva started snickering. Oh, if she had anything to do with this…

"Why do I need to take a physical to prove I'm alive? How could I be talking to you if I'm dead?"


	30. Mar 30

_**Mar 30  
><strong>_You should pray for a sound mind in a sound body.  
><strong>Juvenal<strong>** (55 AD - 127 AD)**, _Satires_

Timothy McGee hated being injured. It wasn't necessarily the pain or discomfort at the time that bothered him, it was the aftermath.

No one ever discussed the aftereffects when he spoke to them. It was always 'I broke my arm, leg, neck, and/or every bone in my body and it _hurt_.' The discussion always involved the amount of time spent in the Emergency Room, and how many doctors stared at the x-ray, and the number of cute nurses that passed (or doctors when he talked with Abby and Ziva), and which painkillers they had been given after however long they had been in excruciating pain.

Now, with his very own broken arm, he was learning the hard way. He had lost his independence – it felt odd to have to ask people to open jars and tins for him, or tie his shoelaces every morning, or help him cut up his food, or carry something from one room to another, or put his grocery shopping away. He slept with the cast propped up on pillows, trying to ignore the ache in it every morning after so many hours of inactivity. He tried to continue to use his arm and occasionally his wrist, only to overtax it so easily and have to put up with the pain for hours afterwards.

He was fed up with the whole thing.

Abby had been a lifesaver, temporarily moving in to help him out. She teased him when he was in the mood to be teased, and knew when to say nothing while he lost hope. She refused to allow him to overtire himself and sent him to bed in a way only she could.

Maybe he should start to be more worried about what would happen when they took the cast off.


	31. Mar 31

_**Mar 31  
><strong>_The worst thing of all is standing by when folks are doing something wrong.  
><strong>Kirby Larson<strong>, _Hattie Big Sky, 2006_

Ziva David nudged her partner lightly, though she would have much preferred to pinch his arm. Damn man never seemed to know when he had done something wrong.

He was being an idiot; nothing new there. They were at a crime scene, supposedly interviewing a witness. Gibbs was busy attempting to get time and cause of death out of Ducky, which would be driving him up the wall as the Mossad assassin suspected poison. McGee was finishing his photographs of the crime scene.

The witness was their only witness. Blonde, beautiful, minus a few brain cells – Tony's perfect woman. So far she had confirmed Ziva's theory; she had seen the deceased collapse in the street without warning. She did not know who he was and had never seen him before.

Tony had decided to flirt. Large time. There was still the possibility she had pertinent information for the investigation, and Tony had decided to forget about the dead body not fifty feet from where they stood and try to persuade her to hand over her cell phone number instead.

She wanted to alert Gibbs to the unprofessional behavior of his Senior Field Agent, but she suspected she would be in trouble too for failing to control her partner.

When he shot the blonde his most disarming smile, Ziva kicked him in the shins.

He yelped.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs bellowed, half a step behind him.

Ziva smiled innocently and left.


End file.
